


Amen

by hyperions



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, F/M, Flashbacks, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperions/pseuds/hyperions
Summary: On the morning of Overwatch's collapse, Gabriel Reyes reflects on his relationship with the woman who tried to catch him as he fell from grace.





	1. Antumbra

**Author's Note:**

> Woo my first fanfict in years! I've been feeling these two pretty deeply since Overwatch's open Beta (wow, I'm sad), so I figured I'd finally get my thoughts out somewhere. I'm calling this canon-divergent, since I'm sure Blizzard's going to release plenty of info that completely debunks any of this in canon, but that's cool with me! I just adore the dynamics between these two and exploring all that interesting potential.

Everything in the room lies still, cast in the drowsy half-light of dawn's first touch through the blinds. The hazy lavender of early morning hangs soft over the couch, organized belongings, and the slightly tousled bedsheets where bodies nestle gingerly closer to covet their last few moments together in much-valued privacy.

One body is sitting, though; leaning against the headboard with his back as the second body lies her head along one of his thighs, nuzzling into the sheets and the potent warmth of him.

 _She looks too beautiful this way_ , thinks Gabriel Reyes. _So peaceful. No one bothering her_.

Angela seems to smile in her sleep, a small curve of lips that softens the expression on her lover's scarred face. He finally can't help himself and caresses a blonde curl from her cheek with the bend of his finger.

He should be asleep with her so they can savor the morning while it lasts before work demands they drag on their uniforms and step down separate hallways to very separate wings. But things often keep Gabriel from sleep, especially these days. He tells himself it's a bad habit from his army days, but he knows better; knows the itch of a conscience caught wobbling the line of an ambiguous morality.

He runs his free hand up over his face, sighs into the rough cup of his palm.

He'd rather think about her. About how they met and how they got here.

Stern, dark eyes shift a strong stare down over her sleeping there; such slight and supple curves beneath the sheets that tempt his thoughts down a different avenue. But no, not just toward the night before all hands and mouths and bodies pushing hot together -- no, to the days where he found himself falling and falling so hard his bones shook.

They still do, every time he's alone with her and her eyes meet his in that way they do. The way that says _home_ just as much as her lips say his name so softly.

How far they've come since the day Jack introduced them. He recalls the way she hadn't broken eye-contact in spite of the subtle case of nerves he could see in the trace of a swallow and the stiffness of her posture. But her voice hadn't wobbled and neither had her handshake - surprisingly firm for such small hands practically glass in the bulk of his own. She'd stared him down with conviction, with the unwavering certainty that, yes, she belonged there with the rest of them. But she'd certainly looked the sight - a beacon of light amongst the grit and grime of disheveled soldiers. She'd even made Jack look a dimmed gold compared to the shine of her.

Her hands had woven miracles, too. Gabriel remembers watching her work over a soldier with collapsing lungs. He'd been sputtering blood, gasping for the life slipping free of him. But she'd remained hunched over him, voice clear and firm through the chaos while asking for tools and assistance. He can remember so vivid how the white of her hands had been stained grisly crimson all the way up to her elbows and smudged rusty down one cheek. But within a minute, she had the soldier stabilized. And he lived to thank her over and over.

 _You're an angel_ , the wounded had gasped. _My guardian angel_. And countless others had echoed it.

When was the moment he thought they might be right? When did he first feel something plucking barbed heartstrings and dulling the jagged edges of him? He closes his eyes and thinks he can recall the instance - and all the other ones following it down the path to this place, this refuge in their bed where there is only them and nothing else.

The year is 2054 and Overwatch thrives in its fresh success. Gabriel is still in his formal fatigues from where he stands at the bar with a glass of bourbon. The ceremony honoring their victory over the Omnic Crisis has been over for an hour at least, but the party's still going strong. It would, of course, with Reinhardt in charge of a very loud drinking challenge. Gabriel can hear Torbjörn join in and is thankful he won't be lingering too late to see the outcome. People are already placing bets. Personally, he'd put his money on Torbjörn.

Instead, he heads toward one of the ballroom windows, swigging a hard swallow from his drink. Bitter and strong, but it's not just the whiskey that tastes that way. It must show on his face enough for someone to notice because he feels a small hand press a touch to his shoulder.

"All partied out?"

Angela Ziegler steps to his side and sips from her chardonnay. Gabriel snorts.

"If you call this a party."

She starts looking both confused and concerned, so he changes his tone and averts his gaze out the window again. There's nothing but black and distant stars.

"…It's been a long day. Just want to get back to work tomorrow."

He's relieved when he hears Angela laugh a quiet response, also turning her stare out into the night.

"I know what you mean. Everyone deserves to celebrate after everything we've been though, but I prefer to keep busy. We still have a lot of work to do."

"Exactly," he replies more quickly than he'd meant to. But he continues. "I know our _shining_ new Commander is having a great time resting on his laurels, but we're not out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot."

He's surprised when he feels an elbow nudge into his side.

"Cut him some slack, Gabriel." Angela doesn't look annoyed, but she is giving him one of those looks -- the ones his _abuela_ would give him when she'd catch him sneaking out after dark. But she's smiling and it's not as condescending as everyone else's looks. "I don't think he's enjoying the attention nearly as much as you think he is."

Gabriel rolls his eyes and drinks again. Angela seems to take the cue and changes the subject - tactful as always.

"…You want to get out of here?"

He blinks, as though he hadn't heard her right. "Uh--"

She laughs and looks down at her wine, but doesn't sip. Her smile looks tired at the very curve of the edges.

"This might surprise you, but I'm not exactly a party person."

It doesn't surprise him as much as he thought it would. Angela has always been very work-driven, very careful with her time and how she uses it. While she is extremely kind and friendly, she's not what he'd call a social butterfly. He shrugs, but there's the start of a rare smile at the corner of harsh, scarred lips.

"I had a hunch, actually," he says. He gives her a closer side-glance now, can't help but realize he's never noticed that gleam in the good doctor's eye that borders on… playful? Mischievous? It makes him wonder what other tricks she has up her sleeve when she's on down time and away from the prying eyes of the press. Or perhaps she's just been hanging around Ana too much. That woman inspires all kinds of daring in the people around her.

Gabriel considers the rim of his glass; tips it so the bronze spill of whiskey edges the curve of it. Him and Angela, already such an unlikely duo who have argued over just about everything under the sun in the workplace, ditching the formal celebration banquet without telling a soul…. For some reason, the sheer absurdity of it makes it all the more appealing. And he could use any excuse to leave before Jack makes his way over to talk. _More like gloat._

He knocks back the rest of his drink.

"Let's go."

Angela looks slightly surprised that he's agreed to it, like she didn't expect it of herself to potentially go with the idea. But then her own smile widens and there's that shine again -- that light in cool, blue eyes that flickers awake. She knocks back the rest of her own drink and sets her glass on the table behind them.

"Where to?"

"Wherever the hell we want."

"Are you going to surprise me?"

They're heading for the elevator and Gabriel almost feels something like anticipation. Because you know what? Fuck Jack. Fuck Overwatch. If tonight's for celebrating, he'll find his own way of doing it. And though Angela is the last person he would've picked to come with him, she's not backing down. In fact, she nearly gives him a little push into the elevator once the doors slide open. Her hands have a firm place on his back that makes him chuckle.

"You don't do this very much, do you?" he teases, nudging the button for the ground floor. He thinks he sees a faint flush sweep across her cheeks as she adjusts her ponytail and the elevator descends.

"You didn't answer my question."

Oh. Good point.

He has to think for a minute, leaning back against the wall with arms crossed. It's mildly distracting that Angela's fixing him with a very expectant smirk.

"I know a place."  Nice start. She raises an eyebrow to prompt him to continue. "A bar. It's quiet, dark… A lot of military types. Might not be your thing."

At that, Angela folds her arms and tips her head up proudly. Had she been wearing her valkyrie suit, he'd be sure her wings would flare open in a wash of warm light and she'd look the part of the blazing seraphim amused with the workings of mere men.

"Try me, Reyes."

So he does. While they take one of the jeeps in the parking garage, they end up reminiscing about some of Reinhardt's attempts at making them all socialize when they had first met. Angela admits that she'd found him intimidating while Gabriel grumbles about how he'd first had reservations about her joining the team. They joke about old arguments, aged snark, and all the times she'd had to patch him up upon return to HQ.

Eventually, they pull up to a tiny little bar called _Shotshells_ tucked into the gloom of an alley. Gabriel feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and ignores it.

_Not in the mood, Jack._

Angela doesn't seem daunted by the dark or dress of the pub and steps inside before Gabriel does, nodding politely to the bartender who gives them a scrutinizing eye. He seems less wary once Gabriel steps over and sets a hand on the bar-top. "Two of the usuals."

He glances over his shoulder at his unlikely partner in crime, who is wandering toward the back of the room and offering only a polite smile to the few other patrons scowling from their drinks. She ends up seating herself at one of the high tables and waits quietly for him to join her. He can't help but take a moment, though; just a moment to think on the contrast of sunny blonde to the musty shadows and the slim slope of her good posture compared to all those skulking all hunched, broad shoulders in the corners. He joins her with a smirk and two glasses in hand.

"Dark and quiet enough for you, Dr. Ziegler?"

"A little rough around the edges, but that's never a bad thing," she counters, eying her drink with reserved skepticism. She quirks an eyebrow. "You do know I have to work tomorrow, yes?"

Gabriel laughs. It's warm, deep, rumbling like lazy thunder. "I thought we were supposed to be celebrating."

He tips his glass towards hers and she eventually obliges and clinks the two together.

"To Overwatch," he toasts, and with a lingering drawl of bitterness he can't help. Angela gives him another somewhat unimpressed look before leaning in closer with a voice stern, yet soft. It captures Gabriel's attention instantly.

"To the end of a crisis and to the promising start of something _new_."

Their eyes are locked even as they sip their drinks to the sound of that -- to the resonance of glass on glass acknowledging a private promise that the future offers opportunity and change for them both. Not just grudges, not just slow-smoldering envy stewing ever hotter under the surface.

He can't make that promise, not really. His blood still burns too hot and his tongue still tastes all salt and vinegar. But he can see the potential splayed out before them all - himself included. And he can do better at playing nice now that he's a good distance from their golden boy commander.

"Here, here."

They stay at the bar for a good hour or so, talking and sharing more old stories. Angela mentions vaguely the first time she'd had to use her gun and Gabriel ends up rambling about the first real mission he had with Jesse McCree after recruiting him from the Deadlock Gang. It's close to 1:30AM by the time Angela checks her watch with a sigh.

"As much as I love hearing about all the things Jesse did to push your buttons--"

" _Does_. He still does them. Kid never learns--"

"--I think it's getting late, Gabriel."

"Ah… Right."

For some reason, he feels almost… embarrassed? That doesn't feel like the right word for it. He's not some idiot teenager and even when he'd been one he hadn't felt that way. Sheepish, maybe? Whatever it is, Angela seems to catch onto it quickly yet again and with a tone of humble understanding in the softness of her voice.

And a hand resting over his that feels warmer than it has before. Tender, gentle, the barest trace of a caress in the way the pad of her index finger traces a circle over his knuckle.

"This was fun." He can hear the smile in her voice and looks up, unable to help the way his stare lingers in the midst of hers. And now it's her turn to seem sheepish, retracting her hand as though realizing how she'd started grazing a touch down the smooth line of a scar.

"Yeah," he replies. He stands from his stool, pauses, then offers her his hand. "I, uh… I needed this. So thanks."

There's the barest flush of pink in her cheeks when she looks from his hand to him and smiles slightly shyly upon taking his palm and slipping gracefully off the stool herself.

"I guess we have more in common than we thought," she says within a laugh as they head out the door. She's got an arm looped loose with his now and leans some slight weight to his side. He's not a man who enjoys giving away much of his personal space too freely, but he can part with this much. He doesn't even think anything of it, nor the way she eventually gives his arm a squeeze before stepping into the jeep.

"You can pick the place next time," he snorts and turns the keys in the ignition.

"Next time, huh?"

"If you want a next time. I guess. Your call." He grumbles the words to have it come across less intent and more " _cool guy who doesn't care what you say_ " nonchalance. Of course, Angela seems to find his awkwardness endearing.

"I have a few places in mind. Will you still answer my e-mails when we go back to work? Don't think I haven't noticed the way you ignore them when you're annoyed." She's teasing him again; a side to her he's unfamiliar with, but pleased to uncover more of. He rolls his eyes and turns the car onto the highway back to HQ.

"…I'll see what I can do."

They part ways once they get to base. She thanks him again for the detour and he squeezes her slim shoulder before she turns toward the dorms.

Gabriel lingers a while in the entrance, plucking a cigarette from his coat pocket as he checks his phone. 5 texts, 2 voice mails, and 3 missed calls. For a good five minutes, he just stares at the name on the screen and smokes in silence. Jack Morrison. _Strike Commander_ Morrison. Will it ever be just "Jack" again?

He sighs, remembers Angela's concerns, and finally presses the re-dial button. The line rings three times before Jack picks up.

"…Gabriel? I've been trying to reach you for hours. Couldn't find you at the party - where'd you go? All the hand-shaking they had me do is just--"

"Morrison."

"…What?"

Again, silence. A quiet hanging between two people perched on a precipice of change; a valuable dynamic threatening to fall askew. Jack doesn't interrupt and lets Gabriel exhale a plume of smoke into the receiver.

"…Never got to say congratulations."

"Hey, listen, you don't have to--"

"I _want_ to."

Jack falls quiet, like he's really letting the words sink in. Gabriel's doing the same thing as he closes his eyes and makes an attempt at acceptance.

"You really earned it," he continues. His jaw starts loosening the tension that’s drawn such a rigid line there. "Spotlight suits you better, anyway."

He hears a faint kind of chuckle on the other end and the sound of what's probably Jack's hand rubbing up over his own face. "Don't know about that, Gabe. Guess we'll find out together, huh?" A pause, a swallow of relief no matter how well hidden. "…I'm really relieved to hear you say that. I thought maybe you--"

"I'm fine with it, Jack. I got my own operation to run now." Saying it out loud makes the tightness in his chest slacken its grip and the bitterness on his tongue lessen its twinge. There's still something there, something dissatisfied, but the majority of the heat smoldering its resentment has cooled for now. Angela had told him to go easier; had reminded him of a bigger picture outside a flicker of envy. He's known Jack too long to get too stubborn over something this petty.

And yet there's still a piece of him - a fragment, a shard, a sliver - that seethes in silence. A piece that knows it worked so much harder to get here and to fight harder for the future. Harder, _dirtier_ \-- those dark places Jack won't dare go but Gabriel can and _will_ because he already knows what it takes to push forward regardless of the odds.

But that much is buried down for the moment because Blackwatch needs him now and so does Jack. He can hear it in the younger soldier's voice even when it won't bend the words asking for it. Perhaps Angela will praise him now that he hasn't ripped Jack's head off (Ana's certainly going to be impressed too).

He realizes, though, that he's had enough socializing for today, even with an old friend.

"It's late, though. Gonna head in," he mutters. Jack had gone quiet on the other end, like his mind also started wrestling with new knots twisting their way there.

"Yeah, sure. G'night, Gabriel."

"We're cool. Just want you to know that."

"Yeah… Thanks, man. It's gonna be like it's always been, y'know? Just different fancy titles to make the higher ups happy."

Gabriel snorts, tries a smile.

"Sure thing, _Commander_."

"Oh shut up and go to bed already. That's an order."

He hangs up with a chuckle to himself before grinding his cigarette into an ashtray and turning toward the new Blackwatch dorm wing. His shoulders feel lighter now and it's not all glass and sharpness swallowing down his throat. Had he stayed at the celebration, his head would've been so caught up in the then and now that he'd been sure to say things that he would've regretted. Somehow, Angela had known that the best thing to do was get out, get away; breathe in air that isn't formalities and war medals and way too expensive champagne.

He'll have to thank her properly one of these days. Not that " _thank you_ " has ever been a great strength of his.


	2. Candela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, this chapter took longer to finish than I thought! I've been sick on-and-off throughout the past few days, so that might have something to do with it. Happy Holidays to everyone btw. (:

Years pass. Overwatch is one huge success story after another. The first fully operational cybernetic human, Genji Shimada, is responsible for the fall of the Shimada Clan under his new Blackwatch colors. Medical and scientific breakthroughs shine left and right through the developing works of Angela Ziegler and Winston, a gorilla from the Horizon Lunar Colony. And, yes, Gabriel Reyes does swap e-mails with the good doctor Angela as promised.

_A -_

_Jack and I went out for drinks last night. Talked old war stories and we both agreed we could've used you in the trenches with us. Probably wouldn't be nearly as scraped up as we are. Especially me. Jack said I have a habit of forgetting what bullets do to a guy._

_See? We're cool. Things are fine._

 -  _G_

 

_Gabriel,_

_I've noticed that things have cooled down a bit and I'm glad. Jack said something this morning about how lucky Overwatch is to have me and, honestly, you will both give me a big, fat head if you keep this up. Even Ana says things like that. You just make sure you take better notice of those bullets now because I'm not a miracle worker.  Well, not always._

_Grab lunch with me tomorrow? I'm going to be stuck in the infirmary all day today I think.  I could use the company._

 -  _Angela_

 

It's during one of these lunches that he asks her when she's got free time to spare.

Angela laughs. Then blinks through fresh surprise. "Oh, you're… serious?"

"I know you're swamped. Hell, I'm off-base again Sunday night and won't be back for two weeks at least. I just…" He sighs and runs a roughened palm up over his face. Angela's still watching him, polite as ever and patient as always with the obstacles he climbs to try and be social. His face bows as he grumbles the rest of his sentence. "I just thought we could play hooky again. For old time's sake. S'been a while."

He doesn't want to look at the face she must be making, but clenches his jaw to think he might be even slightly shy about it. Since when? They've eaten together, even gone to one of Angela's favorite cafés. So why does this feel different and make something itch, prickling warm beneath his skin? Luckily, when he does glance to her, she's still smiling. In fact, she's reaching one of her small, delicate-looking hands to rest over his own battered and bruised knuckles.

"I can't tonight, Gabriel. I need to run more tests on Genji before your next mission. That last one nearly compromised his immune system completely." She says that last bit more sternly and looks him in the eye - a warning not to let it happen again. He nods and dips his head again, returning to gruff mumbles.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Obviously."

" _But_ \--"

He chances a look when he can't help but wonder if she's smiling or scowling. It's still the former; still that subtle pull of peach-soft lips he might've stared at more than he should've just now.

"-- I can make some time tomorrow night."

Gabriel's heart lightens between his ribs and it's as thrilling as it is confusing. He'll ignore it for now and manage a slanted half-smile. "There's a bar downtown. Classier than the last one, I promise."

She tilts her head curiously with an amused hum.

"I did not mind that last place, you know."

"Yeah, but we've both had enough military shit going on right now. Casual formal," he tells her as he stands and crumples up his sandwich wrapper. He sees her lift an eyebrow, looking genuinely intrigued.

"All right, then. I'll be ready."

The next day comes too quickly for Gabriel. He is a man who plans things to the utmost detail and relies on raw brutality in moments of weakness. He shouldn't think of this like a soldier, though; nor like a master tactician. He is simply… a man and she is a woman. And he doesn't know why she absorbs his thoughts and focus for the day. Even McCree takes notice by the end of their sparring session.

"You goin' soft, old man?" jeers the gunslinger upon pinning his superior to the mat. Gabriel grunts and shoves him aside with a rough jab of his elbow. Jesse is all smirks. "At this rate, _I_ shoulda been named Commander. You better not be goin' easy on me or some nonsense--"

Gabriel yanks his soldier down by the scruff of the neck and rolls him into a headlock. Jesse groans, but ends up chuckling through it. "Woo, now _that's_ more like it!"

"Shut it or you'll be running laps until midnight."

He frees him gruffly and stands. Jesse's just shrugging and reaching for his hat to fix back on his head. "Shoot, you know I'm only teasin'," he assures while lazily returning to his feet. 

Gabriel drinks from his water bottle and grabs a towel on the bench to dry the sweat beaded across his face and down the slope of his throat so he doesn't have to look at his Blackwatch protégé, whom he can hear padding over to seize his own towel. The sooner he can leave the training gym, the faster he can get ready--

"Hey… C'mon, Commander. You gonna tell me what's goin' on or what?"

Gabriel fixes him with a glare over his towel. Jesse just winks and makes him roll his eyes.

"Nothing is going on. I have plans tonight and need to prepare soon."

"Plans, huh? About the mission on Sunday? 'Cause I'm thinkin…" Jesse claps his commander on the shoulder, "…it might be somethin' else."

Gabriel shrugs off his hand and looks far from impressed. Jesse puts his palms up to show no ill intent by it, but he's still got that coyote's sly smirk on his face. The kid's always been far too clever for his own good.

"Think what you want. You're gonna run fifty more laps, then we'll call it a day. Go. Now."

"It's a _girl,_ ain't it--"

"Go. _Now_."

Jesse looks like the cat who's gotten the cream as he starts jogging down the track.

Gabriel ignores him best by checking his phone for any updates from Jack. He knows he's got reservations about the upcoming Blackwatch mission, but Gabriel's placated him enough for now. The last thing he needs is Jack trying to meddle too much when his focus is apparently elsewhere today. And, as luck would have it, the only update on his phone is a text from Angela.

_7:00, right? Just getting back to my room now. Lucky for you, Genji's tests came back positive._

Two good things. He thumbs in his reply.

_Yeah. Good to hear. See you soon._

"You talkin' to her now, huh? Oh, _Commander_! I reckon you got it bad to be smilin' like _that_!"

Gabriel immediately throws his water bottle at Jesse, who just claps and laughs when it hits him in the calf.

"Fifty more laps. You wanna make it fifty _more_ , McCree?"

"No, _sir_!" he barks in another laugh as he jogs past. Gabriel knows he's not going to smooth him out into something stream-lined with discipline, but he's content to work with what he's got. The kid follows orders when he needs to and that's what's important. Though he's certainly a headache when he tries to be and he is _certainly_ trying.

Eventually, McCree finishes his laps and Gabriel's got his daily paperwork finished. He pats the gunslinger on the back to show for no hard feelings in spite of that very cheeky grin (and last minute "women advice" which Gabriel promptly ignores) so that he can head to his room and get ready.

Not that he has any idea what he's doing. _Casual formal_. Had he really said that?

7:00 rolls around much too fast. Gabriel's scowling into a mirror in a black dress-shirt and matching black slacks (ever a man of simple tastes and obvious color preference or lack thereof). He doesn't think anything formal suits him too well besides his fatigues. He feels so out of place, so forced into a kind of role he fits in about as well as a war hound in a dog show. Then again, why is he so fixated in the first place? It's simply a dinner between friends, between co-workers. To call it anything else would feel presumptuous and childish. Still, there's that part of him re-reading some of their e-mails to himself in his head, recalling her interest in everything they talk about and her constant kindness in moments of doubt and frustration. This friendship between them… It feels like such a quiet, private thing. To make it more would change that, wouldn't it? And who's to say that's what he wants? What _she_ wants? He's so immersed in his thoughts and the leer of his own reflection that it takes him a moment to notice the tap-tap-tapping at his door.

Oh.

He nearly trips over his desk chair on his way to the door and tries not to let his eyes widen too much when he opens it.

Angela's standing there in a pretty white cocktail dress and gold earrings. Her hair's still up, but more well-kept than usual and she's wearing a subtle touch of make-up that brings out the shine of her eyes and the subtle curve of her lips when she smiles up at him.

"I'm sorry. I know you were going to meet me at my room, but I waited and--"

"Shit, sorry, I was--"

She leans a finger to her own lips in a hushing gesture which silences him instantly.

"-- I wanted to beat you to the punch, as they say." She laughs something quiet, something soft, and he feels strangely dizzy for a second. "It's silly, but I am… excited to get out of HQ. And you…" He can tell she's eyeing him up and down, but it's not at all scrutinizing. He even thinks he sees a flush in her cheeks like he had all that time ago at Shotshells. "You clean up well, Commander Reyes."

"You sound surprised," he teases before he can help himself. She props her hands on slim hips, shaking her head.

"Only because you're very elusive out of your uniform," comes her counter, enough to make his smirk broaden almost slyly as he nods for her to join him inside.

"I have a reputation, Doctor."

She follows him into his living space, unable to help a wandering glance up-and-down the place. He doesn't mind when he notices, though there's a nagging voice in the back of his head trying to remember if he left a pair of boxers out in the open somewhere.

"Just gotta find my jacket. You, uh, want a drink or something before we go?" he asks. Angela's seating herself at the kitchen counter atop one of the breakfast stools there.

"Actually - and I know this sounds silly - but do you have any tea? I'm afraid my head's been bothering me all afternoon."

Her voice sounds apologetic, which furrows Gabriel's brow enough that it must show because she laughs and waves a dismissive hand. "See, I knew it was silly of me--"

"What? No! _No_ … Don't be ridiculous." His voice comes out sharper than he means and he can feel himself bristle strangely indignant. Not because of her request, but because he finds it so… bizarre that she could think she's bothering him with it. But he can taste the sharper edge in his voice after a moment's silence and he sighs to try and clear the air.

"…Don't have any tea," he finally admits. She opens her mouth to dismiss the matter again, but he interrupts her. "I can make something else, though."

She seems stubbornly embarrassed to have brought it up in the first place and insists. "Oh, it's fine. Don't worry about me. I'm a doctor, after all. Sometimes, headaches come and go. I just need more rest."

"I _want_ to."

When he says that, she falls quiet. He's not good at saying that he worries sometimes or that she's even on his mind too much at all, but the way he looks into her eyes as he says it has her smiling something more tender than usual. She nods and says no more on the subject. Though she does crane her neck enough to watch him work as he starts moving around the kitchen, searching through cupboards.

He can sense her gaze on the movements of his shoulders and fixes her with one of those unintentionally-stern stares of his that can break a terrorist in the interrogation chair. "What?"

She blinks, clearly disheartened by the harshness of dark, cutting eyes. "O-oh, I--"

Gabriel's head bows again and he tries his best to soften the jagged edges of his expression; a face marked with war and pain and severity like no other in HQ. Angela catches this in the way she always does, even when his countenance is hardly softened at all. She smiles regardless, seemingly able to peer through the roughness and find the earnest simplicity of a man trying his best to be a good friend.

"I was just wondering what you're going to make. Coffee?" she guesses, tilting her head in a way that somehow makes her flaxen hair shine radiant under the lights. Gabriel smirks to himself and pours milk, chocolate, cinnamon, and piloncillo into a pot to simmer. He can feel the return of abashment prickling hesitant fingers down the vertebrae of his neck whilst he gathers a few of the other items he's preparing, as though warning him not to peel apart too many of his defenses for one woman -- _this_ woman. And yet, he feels so at ease; not at all the usual guard built iron-strong within the wisps of small talk that too often bore him to death.

"No," is his reply and he can practically hear the curiosity building across the kitchen counter as Angela's thin brow furrows. His gaze flicks up, his voice rolls a lazy growl of a chuckle. "Surprised I can cook, is that it?"

"Yes. Very," she admits freely with her own laugh.

At this point, he's adding corn flour and water to the pot with thick fingers almost artful in how they tend to their tasks. The wielding of shotguns and grenades crafts dexterity beyond the battlefield, it seems.

There are words he can feel under the edge of his chin; the words of his life, his story. He could tell her why he cooks - could tell her how he learned and the remnants of a broken boyhood that brought him here. And, for some reason, he _wants_ to. He wants to let go of those pieces of him locked away behind the steel bars of his resolve. But he catches himself and swallows down the foolhardy whims of a man he doesn't know. This isn't him and yet…

When he looks at her, he feels more himself than he ever has in the rush of war. And war has always been 'home' as far as this soldier's concerned.

He's starting to pour the mixture into a broad-rimmed mug, shouldering aside the distractions of a strange inner-conflict. He can't help but look on curiously when he nudges said glass across the counter toward Angela, whose eyes flicker bright with interest. She bows her head closer to feel the blossoms of steam caress soft petals over her cheeks, imbued with the spice of an enticing scent.

"Smells… like chocolate?"

"Not Swiss, unfortunately," he teases, earning a look of mock disappointment from the doctor before she dismisses it with a flick of her hand.

"I suppose I will live." She waits for the drink to cool enough before taking a sip, eyes closing as she hums a sound of fondness. "Mm, Gabriel… What _is_ this?"

" _Champurrado_ ," he answers, unable to help the sound of a smile in his voice. "Just call it hot chocolate if you want."

There's a silence resting there between them as she sips her drink and he grabs a beer from the fridge for himself. He's… glad she likes it, glad as well that she doesn't pry into the little details of _how_ and _why_ and _when_. And there's a sense of pride in bringing something entirely new into her life, even as small as a hot drink. She seems grateful and even a little impressed, which pleases a far-too-typical sense of pride within his ego. It's enough to help lessen the hold of his guard so that he might step toward the couch and gesture for her to join him.

She hesitates before she does, suddenly touched with a hint of shyness he can see over his beer bottle when he takes a swig. She's got her drink cradled almost precious within the hold of her hands and is staring at it with an adoring little smile as she sits beside him on the black-furnished sofa. Her voice is much more quiet this time, sincere in a way that makes him almost start to frown in concern.

"You didn't have to do this for me," she starts. He can see her fingertips tracing small lines over the edge of the mug's brim. "We should have gone out by now. And yet, all this over a headache…" She laughs and Gabriel's frown widens.

"Damn, you're right, we should--"

She shakes her head to still him, a smile curling only the barest edges of her lips. "I'm not used to it. Being looked after like this." She's still looking into what remains of her champurrado, finally glancing up into his face again with an expression bordering gingerly on apologetic. "I'm… sorry that I did not expect it to come from you. Even tonight."

Gabriel shifts somewhat in his seat, back hunching over so his elbows can rest on his knees. There is neither surprise nor hurt etched into the tired scars of his face. Instead, the slant of his smirk leans amused up one side of his mouth as he drinks from his beer. "You've patched me up more times than I can count, Doc. Figured it's time to start returning the favor." One strong shoulder lifts in a shrug. "…Don't worry, it's new to me too."

At that, Angela leans back in her seat somewhat and crosses her legs.

"So why me, then?" she asks, making Gabriel blink.

"Uh…?"

"Why am I the special one, if I may ask? Is it really just the stitches?"

Her gaze is expectant, but not at all pressuring. It's an innocent question, a reasonable ask. And yet, the robust line of his jaw stiffens around another swallow of beer. But he has to put the bottle down on the coffee table to think it over.

 _Why_ her? He doesn't make champurrado for Jack or Ana. In fact, he doesn't even mention that he can make it at all. And he hasn't invited either of them for a night on the town since the days of their dog tags. Angela isn't a soldier - doesn't even understand him like one. She's a combat medic who's seen him in the heat of the fray and has yanked him out from under the menace of too many bullets and blasts, but she's hardly the kind of person who knows every method to his madness. Her ideals couldn't be more different from his own and in ways that make him roll his eyes and click his tongue.

And yet… _And yet_ …

"Because it's easy."

He sighs, fidgeting again where he sits. Folding emotion into words is certainly not his forté nor his comfort-zone. But he's not going to deny her this answer when it's one he himself has been trying to peel apart.

"It's… easy being around you. Don't have to be someone I'm not." His voice is something of a grumble now and he can't look into the eyes he knows are watching him closely. But there's still none of that expectant intensity; nothing cold or disappointed or critical from her. "I know you disapprove of a lot of the things I do. And you'll say stuff I completely disagree with. But we're still… here. Still talking. Still friends."

Even the word ' _friends_ ' marks an odd taste in his mouth, unaccustomed to being breathed aloud. So he finally shifts a glance to her face, hoping he doesn't look entirely clueless. "I like what we have. Whatever that is."

Angela sets down her mug. She looks truly touched to hear it. "I like it too," she tells him. Hearing it breathes a warm wash of relief through his chest that might also have to do with the hand she's rested on the slope of his shoulder. Her hold squeezes fondly and there's the barest hint of a true smile within the bend of his lips. Not a smirk, not a half-grin; a smile subtle and small.

"What about you, then?" he asks now that his feelings are out of the way and (hopefully) out of the spotlight. "Why _me_ , Angela? Didn't think I was your type." A beat, a pause, "Of friend." _Nice save, Reyes._

Luckily, she's too distracted by the question to take much note of his fumbling. Her gaze turns distant, but her hand remains on his shoulder and even slowly touches down the length of his arm to settle on his wrist.

"I suppose… it is for a similar reason," she replies slowly. "I think a lot of people assume I'm very social or that I'm good with people. I _have_ to be, of course. It's my job." Her smile fades only just. "And I love my job. I love helping people. But outside of work, I am… not as charismatic as some might think."

Gabriel can tell it's difficult for her to get the words out too, just as it'd been for him. She is much more graceful about it, much more eloquent, but he senses that she's putting just as much thought and effort into her reply.

"To be honest, I would choose work over a party any day," she continues, now with a sheepish laugh. "But with you, it's different. And I like that." She finally returns her gaze to his face, seeming grateful that he hasn't glanced elsewhere. "You treat me like a person, not just a doctor. Not just a genius from Switzerland who has all the answers _. Especially_ when we argue."

His smile curves into a smirk as he elbows her playfully.

"Yes, like _that_!" she laughs, shoving him back in retaliation. But then she resumes a softer voice hesitant to step to a place more vulnerable, more exposed. "But… no, not just when we argue. _All_ the time. And it means a lot to me."

Complaints and criticisms he can handle with ease, but words like these are… much more difficult. He doesn't want her to feel awkward for opening up, however, so grunts his response regardless of not knowing what to say.

"I'm glad." A moment's pause. He nods to affirm it. "Real glad."

Their eyes are met in a way that makes something stir restless and yearning in the pit of Gabriel's stomach. Like he wants to move -- to _do_ something, but he's not sure what. To embrace her? To hold her? He cuts too rigid a profile where he sits, tension lining unsure along the broadness of his shoulders. But then it dissipates, dissolves.

Angela's arms are reaching for him of their own accord, looping around his neck so she can nestle close into his chest. He's never thought about how small she is, how fragile her body seems amidst the bulk and brawn of his own. And yet, her heart is a force to be reckoned with - as strong as it is ruthless in its compassion. He tries not to focus too much on the way her face tucks so neatly into the crook of his neck or how soft her hair is brushing his throat. Instead, it is her warmth, her presence so small and simple in the weight of his arms when he finally, slowly, wraps them around her.

Hugs are a very foreign entity to Blackwatch's surly commander, much more so than the dark schemes that lurk monstrous in the hearts of men. So when he pats the small of her back, it's not without the awkwardness of inexperience. But she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she laughs against his neck and squeezes tighter to him. "You didn't have a reservation, did you?"

Reservation about opening the slightest, smallest hole in his steeled guard? Reservation about welcoming her stiffly into his arms, letting the subtle weight of her melt away the doubt, the uncertainty?

"…You know, for the restaurant?"

Or that.

"No. Don't worry about it," he assures her, almost disappointed that she'd mentioned it. Of course it's something he's been looking forward to, but his tolerance for strangers doesn't run high when he's rather drawn to the idea of remaining right where they are. Besides, he might do something stupid like ask her to salsa dance. He doesn't even like dancing, but he's apparently partaking in all kinds of uncharacteristic affection tonight. He wouldn't put it past himself.

Angela pulls out of the embrace, turning her face to hide some of the small flush of pink in her cheeks. "Should we go, then? I know you planned this out as you plan everything. Very carefully."

Gabriel frowns to himself when called out so frankly, but doesn't move to join her when she makes to stand.

"We don't… have to," he mutters. Angela frowns.

"We…? What do you mean?"

"I mean…" He shrugs, clearly tentative to suggest it, but never one to back down once he's started something. "We don't have to go out to have a good time. To get away from work." There's a silence hanging briefly between them, which prompts him to stand with her and shake his head. "But you got all dressed up. Don't want that to be for nothing, so--"

"I'd like that."

"…Really?"

She's undoing her earrings as she says it and starting to let down her hair. Gabriel can't help but watch the way it falls golden just above her shoulders and down the elegant slope of her neck.

"Do you have any movies, maybe? We could do that instead. I haven't sat down and watched a movie in _ages_ ," she sighs, sitting again and slipping out of her high heels. Gabriel's grinning, unable to help himself when, once again, she surprises him with how much her personal tastes somehow align with his own. Even when they'd _just_ been discussing this.

He undoes the top few buttons of his dress shirt to get more comfortable, oblivious to the way Angela's gaze lingers momentarily on the newly-exposed skin. He's preoccupied with reaching for the remote to start up one of those in-home movie networks, unable to help grinning. They agree they'll order Chinese when they get hungry and settle on a psychological thriller for their feature presentation.

The movie's a good two hours and thirty-six minutes. Gabriel's rolling his eyes by the end of it, clearly unimpressed and completely unaware of the fact that Angela's legs are resting casually over his lap. He even sets a strong hand over her thigh while they discuss the ending.

"That 'twist' was bullshit," he grunts.

"I think it made sense… in a way," she reasons. "Besides, you can't honestly tell me you thought her sister was dead the _entire_ time."

"Well, _no_ , but… really? That was _it_? They didn't even kill the guy that drowned her in the first place."

"I think it's more about what haunts him now and how that's worse than death."

"Still should've shot the bastard."

When they stand to pick up their discarded take-out cartons, Gabriel is quick to shift aside the hand on her leg. She herself says nothing about it, but seems to be smiling to herself as she helps him tidy up the living area. She eventually dangles her shoes from one hand and accompanies him to the door to say their goodbyes for the night. Gabriel asserts that he should at least walk her to her own quarters in spite of what watchful eyes might still be awake around the base at this hour. It's still not late enough to assure that any of their co-workers won't be lingering in the hallways and waiting to pounce on the latest gossip, but he'll take that risk. He has ways of making certain squadmates hold their tongues.

They keep talking about the movie as they walk, seeming to come to at least one agreement: the lead actress had a beautiful voice. And it's on that note that they stand outside Angela's door and Gabriel realizes that their privacy together - their personal refuge within times of turbulence - must come to a close for a while. And he still can't grasp properly why his heart sinks the way it does; why his ribs squeeze barbed bone around an aching tenderness he can't comprehend.

Luckily, Angela's voice draws his mind to warmer places. "Thank you for tonight. I know it wasn't what we planned, but…" She actually _giggles_ softly. "It was a lot of fun. I really needed that."

He smiles back. One of those real smiles again, somehow shedding the severity of wear and tear from his face.

"One of these days we'll actually do what we're supposed to," he growls in a laugh of his own. They stand there in that comfortable silence they can find themselves in so easily. Her bright eyes in his dark ones, her soft smile and his scarred one. Before he can stop himself, Gabriel finds his voice again. "And for the record, you look great tonight."

He's not sure if that had meant to sound smooth, suave, or any of the like, but he's already feeling foolish to have said it. Until Angela steps forward, leans up on her tiptoes, and kisses one of his cheeks to say, "You do too."

Gabriel returns to his quarters feeling better than he has in weeks. And Angela finally gets a proper night's sleep. 


End file.
